The History of Maiestas
by Maiestas
Summary: An Elf remembers her fall to Sauron after leaving her home and her unknown love, Lord Elrond. Will she have the strength to once more find the light?
1. The Fall of Ost in edhil

A young elfling, only seventeenwinters behind her, huddled in the corner of her home, watching as her mother and father embraced a final time. Tears rolled down her face unchecked, for she was worrying already for her Adar. Her arms lifted immediately as he came to her, wrapping them around his neck as he hugged her tightly. As Maieron pressed a kiss to her moist cheek, he spoke words of love, of the time they will see one another again.

"Take care of your nanneth for me, promise?" At her solemn nod, he gave her another hug and set her down, his lips lingering in the silver of her hair before he is gone, the brilliance of his armor and the strength of his sword leaving his wife and daughter behind.

As she turned her head to look at her nanneth, who was bent shouldered with either fear, grief, or both, she moved over, her tiny feet making no noise on the floor of the only home she'd known. Reaching up, her small hand laid itself to Selastas' arm only for her entire frame to be engulfed by her mothers embrace.

"I love you, Maie, my darling daughter. Remember that always and forever, until the very end of our days." Hands that had never been anything but gentle and loving touched her cheeks, forcing the child's overly large pewter colored eyes to lift to orbs of the exact color looking back at her. They shared an embrace, the love that flowed from each equal, a mother to child returned with a child's whole and unquestionable emotions.

"Do not leave me Nana, please." The miniscule voice held strength in it despite its youth. The plea in her voice was strong and broke the elder elf's heart, for she knew that, should they find a way out of the city, her daughter would never see her father again. Celebrimbor had already been slain and now the hunt was on for the remaining smiths.

"Come, Maiestas, we must go now through the tunnels." Turning, she kept hold of the small hand she found and pulled it, grabbing a bag she passed.

Maiestas kept up with her mother, though loud sounds came from just outside. She heard her fathers voice calling forth a warning, followed by a great clang of steel. Her Ada's voice, usually so loving and filled with jokes for her, was suddenly silenced and never heard on Arda again.

Her mother cried out, knowing it was too late and that orcs had found their home.

"Meleth nin!" yet no chance is given for the young elfling to argue her mother's cry, for she is yanked forward with surprising strength, her feet dragging the ground as her body is shoved to the floor. Her mother wraps her arms around her, shielding her slight body from any view of the door. Her head lifts to look into the eyes of her daughter, yet no words are spoken from lips that are parted.

The door behind Nanneth was shoved open, the kick of an orc too strong for it. Arrows were aimed inside, yet only one was needed to find the mark. Maiestas withheld a gasp as she felt the warm body of her mother jerk, though her eyes dropped to the point of a black arrow that stuck grotesquely from her chest.

"Nana?" tears streamed down her face as her whisper left lips that trembled. Selastas' gaze remained locked on the face of her beloved child until the reflection of the stars faded from the mercurial depths. Her body went limp, falling onto the child sized body beneath her.

"No! Nanneth?" a sob was pulled from her throat, constricted with pain and fear, sorrow having not yet had a chance to grab hold. It did not, either, for as realization dawned upon the child that her mother and father had now left this land, she fell into a state of shock, her face paling.

Selastas had known her husband had fallen and so too would she and her child. By hiding Maiestas as she had, she had saved her life, for the orc had taken time only to shoot what he saw, and not to investigate. Maiestas had been spared only by the grace of the Valar that day.

Hours later the door opened again, yet she did not hear this, nor even see it. Her eyes stared listlessly forward, seeing nothing. Her light could very easily fade if she was but left alone. It was not to be, for as her mother was pulled from her, as the large hand she had gripped in her own for hours was pulled free, she seemed to come aware of a dark haired being before her. The touch of warmth to her chilled skin had her cringing back, drawing within herself even further.

"I will not hurt you, my child. We have come to help you… to take you to safety." He spoke in the tongue of her people, causing her tears to slip unnoticed down cheeks as pale as death.

"They killed Ada and Nana… they're dead." Her voice is laced with such agony and sorrow, for now Maiestas was alone, and knew none.

The Elf Lord, known to some as the Half-Elven, to others as Peredhil, leaned down to wrap strong arms around her, lifting her close to his chest. A final glance to the woman who had given birth to this young silver haired child and he turned, leaving behind that chapter of her life.

Elrond had found Maiestas.


	2. The Nazgul Attack

Maiestas had found herself here, in the safety of the Golden Wood, far beyond where darkness could touch her, yet it still lingered. Never would she now be far from the touch of it all. She rests now in the talan she had been staying at, resting on the softness of her bed. Time had been decent to her since she'd left Mordor, yet only because she had done that which she had been bidden to complete. It was a bond that held her, an oath made under extreme duress. She was not always the monster she would appear to be now to those who would look upon her. Her fair visage was not looked at with scorn and derision at one time in her life. Now, such was not the case and, due to her actions that had endangered the life of the Elf Lord's son, she wasdestined to always be untrusted here. She reallyhad no home, no place to call her own. She was what she was made into, not what she chose to be. Some may call her 'weak', or label her as 'traitor', yet she feels that she has not failed her heart, not insuchamanner as they believe. It is a far differentmatter that she has failed that particular aspect of her life.

Her eyes star across the room into nothingness, her minds eye taking her to another time, eighteen hundred years before...

_For many years she had wandered, traveling far in all directions, East, West, North, South, and even beyond. The years had been decent to her, taking none of the beauty from her, only enhancing it if such a thing were possible. Her booted feet had crossed many paths, walked many miles, and were weary. She had stopped here, at the Haven of the Elves, Edhellond, several months before. Time measured in months for such as she was but a wink in the span of her time's life. She found a soothing peace here in the pounding of the angry waves upon the shores, the steady flow of the Morthond (Blackroot) River as it sped by into the Bay of Belfalas. Never had the setting sun held such radiance as it did when casting its golden glow to the reflections of the water. From high in the tower she would watch, day after day, as the sun would dim, and shadow would arrive._

_It was here that she had been working so diligently at that which she had finally felt she was capable to attempt. For over 2 millennia she had studied, pouring over books, writings of ancient texts, of wizards or those considered dark. The libraries of forgotten corners, such as that in Minas Tirith, and the Chamber of Mazarbul deep within the Misty Mountains and the Mines of Moria, had been her refuge of choice. Notes had been written and recorded, placed aside in a satchel she had never been without. The staff, given to her by one she had followed and learned from for over three centuries, was even now leaning against the desk. It had been the one constancy in her life, the one thing that had never changed. No. That was a lie, there was one other thing, yet such could not be touched, held, or caressed. Not by her hands, anyway._

_High in the tower on this night the candles illuminate the room, only two. That is what was called for, so what was given. The red colored fabric that rested motionless on the bed was silk, soft and cool to a touch of fingertips. All was nearing readiness. She would begin the chanting soon, but just now she was busy rereading over the words of the chant, for she refuses to falter in her quest. _

_Several moments later it happened. Through the air that was constantly touched with the loud sounds of the bashing of waves against rocks, a noise long unheard in these parts rents the never-ending symphony. The papers she'd been reading fall from her hand to flutter to the floor of the room as her eyes, wide with fear lift to the window, the cries of those on the parapets of the towers already coming through it. Moving quickly, she bends to scoop up the fallen papers, shoving them into the satchel with shaking hands. She cares not if they wrinkle, for she need only to leave this place. On the way out, the strap of the bag over her shoulder and head, she grabs the staff, even leaving the candles to burn in her haste._

_Into the night she steps through the only entrance to her room, as she had requested there be only one point of entry. Perhaps she would have done better to stay within the safety of the walls, yet they would come. She had seen them in her dreams, plaguing her night upon night, the same dream over and over again. She would only be able to hide from their hunt for a time, as she had thus far. Never, however, had one gotten close enough to hear their screams. Always she had remained a step ahead of their pursuit._

_Swiftly her feet carry her to the stairs that wind down, curling closely around the stone that make up the towers construction. She flees as though the very minions of Melkor were upon her heels, for it may as well be so. Her hair, long and streaming down her back to flow freely behind her, seem to be a beacon for those who are on the hunt, the fell beasts on which they ride easily controlled by unseen hands. _

_Another ear piercing screech nearly shatters her ability to hear as she cringes, turning to look into the night's sky with eyes that hold much fear and terror. The stone against her back is painful, yet if she were to know what to come it would hold a likeness to a mother's soft caress. A shadow comes from below, rising to hover before her. The long neck of the beast it sits on stretches towards her, snapping its massive jaws. A scream is torn from her throat as she snaps her staff down, beating it against the large head that pulls back, the creature seeking to move from the pain. It is stilled by the heavy hand of the one who holds its reigns, the billowing blackness of his robes blowing with an ethereal quality, as if untouched by the harsh winds that batter the coast, instead moving as though only kissed lightly by a gentle springtime breeze._

_His voice, such as it is, causes her to lose her ability to stand and she crumbles right there on the steps, her staff clutched like an anchor to hold him at bay. Her mind fails her, leaving her blank with how to respond to the summons he issues. She knows the Black Speech that he uses and shakes her head at it. _

"_NO! Leave me alone!" Her words are common speak, yelled to the flying beast and its master. It is with the words that she seems to regain the strength to work her legs, which she rises to. Turning, her hair whipping about her face and body wildly, she flies on light feet down the stairs, unable to help that she comes around to the side of the tower he is on again, though it is much lower._

_The Witch King of Angmar will not be ignored. His comrades, the others of the Nine, engage in a fierce attack those who seek to protect Edhellond, the beasts the only ones who are truly injured by the arrows that fly their way. Maiestas glances back only to see he jerks the beast to the side as he guides him lower towards the ground level, where earth meets stone._

_Her breath does not fail her; she does not tire as she runs, her staff and satchel held closely to her sides. A glance over her shoulder, through the curtain of her pewter colored hair, shows that he is coming in now for her. She has no knowledge of what he wants, what he is after. She is only able to surmise that they have been sent to either destroy her or, worse, take her Mordor. Turning to look before her again, she continues on, unwilling to be captured by the Ulairi._

_She has little choice in the matter when it comes right down to it, for as the flying monster goes overhead, his large foot smashes into her back, casting her down to the ground. Her temple strikes against a rock that juts from the soft grass, stealing from her all sense and ability to rise and make a stand. She moans in pain as blackness threatens to take her, coming to the edges of her sight. _

_She will know pain in the days to come, but just now, the long talons of the animal that is guided by the Cursed Rider surround her, digging into her flesh through the soft robes she had dressed in earlier that morning. She blinks slowly, unmoving, not struggling as she is carried over a vast distance._

_It was done. The Dark Lord had claimed Maistas. The Nazgul had her._


	3. Entrance to BaradDur

The days had been drawing out for Maiestas, seconds stretching to hours. It seemed that once the gates of memory had been parted, they refused to be closed again no matter how depserately she tried. Rising, she walked from the talan and down the winding stair, the length of her gown dragging behind her even as she moves across the ground. Mallorn trees surround her, allowing only brief glimpses of the stars above. It seemed in this place that time held still, not entering beyond the borders of the Wood. The days had melded so that she had only a vague knowledge of how long she had been here with the party that had just returned from the Ered Lithui. They had remained so those who had felt the kiss of the Orc Scimitars or the touch of the Wargs teeth had time to heal, to recover. The wheels of time had been turning, regardless, and the time was nearing when they would finally take their leave.

Lifting her hand, she touches the wide trunk of a tree she passes, feeling beneath her palm a warmth, vitality, and life that has roots deeper then just those planted so firmly into the earth. She would love to feel such when she looked within herself, yet this was not to be. Despite Elronds words to her, his advice, she still held the guilt of her actions close to her heart. She knows what she has done to them all, what curse she had brought into the home of so many of those that now looked at her with suspicion. They did not know the half of it, for it was not even the capture of Elladan by the Nazgul that had been the worst of hardships they would face.

Despair emanated from her features as she came to small stream that gurgled and sang it sweet tune to the air around her. With a sinking heart, her legs folded beneath her, allowing her to sink down to the soft bed of grass that beckoned her. Into the water her eyes went, staring into the clear depths that rushed by. She found it odd, holding a twisting sense of irony, that here, where the crystalline liquid ran freely she would find the terrors of the memories to haunt her.

_Having had little to no recollection of the actual journey to the Dark Lands, she now found herself released from talons that held her tightly, cast upon the hard soil, sharp rocks digging quickly into her flesh to bruise. The pain seems to draw her back from the edges of the cliff where unconsciousness awaited her, eliciting a soft moan as she pushes herself to sit up, supported by her hands. All around her are sounds, horrible screaming and growling. The noise is familiar to her only because she will never be able to forget it. Her eyes, as her head lifts, settle on beasts all around her. Black eyes, rotted teeth, grotesque flesh all seem to swarm before her. _

_Reaching out with a snapping motion, she tries to grab at her staff, which had fallen some distance from her. Her movement is too slow and the staff is lifted from the ground by the thick and meaty hand of one of the Orcs whose voice sneers in disgust at her. _

"_Want yer toy, do ya?" his voice is high pitched and squeals, yet it is the coldness in his eyes, the pleasure he is getting from taunting her that makes her recoil. "We can give it to ya, can't we boys?" and, nodding, spittle drips from his mouth as he looks to his comrades for support. Their leering features and suggestive gestures cause her to yell at them. _

"_What do you want? Why have I been brought here?" Though she uses all of her ability to stay the trembling of her voice, it does no good. _

_She cries out in pain as cruel claws dig deeply into the flesh of her shoulder, forcing her to turn around. More out of simple reaction then a planned defense, she lashes out herself, her hands curled into claws that rake across the face of the one who had grabbed her so viciously. His angry growl was nothing to the outraged yells of those surrounding him who witnessed her retaliation. _

"_You filthy elven whore!" Sharku's hand lands heavily onto her cheek, causing her to fall back again to the ground. Parchment flies from her satchel yet these she scurries to collect, wrinkling and bending them as she clutches them desperately in her fingers. The pain from his blow brought bile to her throat, yet she could not risk losing all that she had worked so hard to discover, to learn._

_Scrambling to her feet, she stuffs the papers to the satchel, yanking firmly on the flap to close it and secure the documents within. Looking back to Sharku, she gasps at the fury that she sees in his eyes, the black blood that oozes down his cheek surely the reason. Turning, she bolts from him, finding an opening she thinks she could get through. She has no knowledge of where she will go, what she will do, only that she must get away from them. Her way is shut, however, when arms snake out to surround her, one ripping the satchel from her, the strap snapping under the pressure of the pull._

_Crying out in anguish due to the many years she had worked on the contents of it, she turns her silvery eyes to look where it has gone, only to see the orc that had taken it disappearing into the Tower they are near. Its looming presence casts a shadow that stretches vastly, seeking to fill all who stand in its darkness with only abject terror._

_She finds out shortly that it is not the bag she should worry for, but her life, her being, her light. The hands that had hold her rip at her clothing, pulling at the fabric until it is rent from her flesh. The heat of the air, though not affecting her in a manner to heat her temperature, burns her flesh as humiliation rapes her mind. _

"_Daro! Stop, please!" Her yells are unheeded as she is now shoved from one to another, arms encircling only so hands tear brutally at her flesh, ripping, digging, and clawing. Red blood flows from many wounds that already mar her skin, ragged wounds that ache deeply. It is when she is turned to look into the mocking face of Sharku once more that she knows just how deeply she is able to fear._

"_Yer gonna learn a new form of beggin' now, Wench." His putrid breath rushes over her, spittle from his lips flies to land on her face. _

"_Why is this happening? What do you want of me?" She meets the darkened gaze of the one that apparently is the leader of these Orcs, having at least that small measure of pride. Fear quakes to her limbs, yet she does what she can so as not to falter in the stare._

_Sharku is a master not only of the masses he leads, but also in doing his masters bidding. His orders had been made clear several months past, yet it is only just now that he is able to fulfill them to his own satisfaction and, hopefully, that of his Master. He pulls her naked and bleeding form closer, the smell of the she-elf barely tolerable to him. _

"_I want you to scream." _


	4. A New Life

Down her cheeks the moisture trails silently, falling to wet the fabric of the gown as she walks past the river, staying away from the banks. She has no desire to feel the chill of the water touching her flesh, no need for the soothing embrace it would offer her.

Having been startled from the horrors of the memory by a call not far off, Maiestas had risen and taken to walking. The wind had picked up, blowing through the bangs that she kept cut short. They fell to frame her face, the short locks before her ears accentuating the delicate points of the elf's ears. Her bangs come to a point to dip between her eyes, which seems only to make her already large mercury colored gaze that much larger. The rest of her hair is drawn up in braids that are formed into twin peaks upon her head. She rarely left it down to flow freely anymore, always having found it a nuisance in the tasks that she had been made to complete during her time in the Dark Lands.

She can recall with far too much ease when it had been used against her, shorn and taken from her with malicious intent. Closing her eyes, she tightens her jaw to battle the images away, if for only another moment.

Too much has she now to focus on, too much to warn the others of what will be their impending doom should they return to their home, to the valley of Imladris. Already there is danger present within the haven, for the evil is already inside. He has yet to be known, protected by a spell of the Necromancers own making. It was not by choice she had summoned the darkness back to life, but by a bond given, an oath made.

Why she had weakened instead of fading she would never put to words, yet she would not leave Middle-Earth without seeing him one last time. She had made a promise to herself upon leaving early in the third age that she would return to the second home she had known before she sailed into the West. Never would that option is open to her now, for surely the Valar would cast her down to the pits of Melkor's domain instead of welcoming her.

She had been but 17 years old when the place of her birth had been laid under siege, Sauron's forces brutal in the slaying of those who defied him. Celebrimbor had been only one of those who had been slain at the fall of Ost-in-edil in 1697 of the Second Age. Her parents had been others. It had been because of her parents' murders that she had been gifted with the ability that she had discovered one day in the woods of Imladris.

_She had been searching for healing roots that the House of Healing had needed, their supplies having run low. She spent time in the House often, for it was a rare day when the Lord of the Last Homely House was unseen there. Of a sudden, carried on the light breeze, a metallic scent had drawn her attention, permeating through the trees. She turned quickly, the smell having come from the south. She carried no weapons on her person, so as she ran she stooped, grabbing at a thick branch. She knew these lands well, as for the last three hundred and fifteen years she had dwelled here in safety and a harmony, if not an unseen position. _

_Her time here had not necessarily been bad, for she'd felt the love and support of a family that had taken her in. They had treated her as one of their own, yet even they had left her, taking one of the many ships that Cirdan had brought to the Grey Havens so they could go to Valinor, awaiting the time they would be reuinited with their son, who had sailed many years earlier. She had not been with them for an overabundance of years, had, and in fact, only just started feeling comfortable around them. After they'd left she had not wished to move in with another foster family, so had held her own, living alone and keeping herself out of trouble and notice by working with the healers. It was the notice of the one she had grown to long for that did trouble her, for never was such attention given to her. She was but a background image, a singular face among many._

_To the south she ran, the makeshift club in her hand weighty and thick enough that, should she choose to bash something over the head with it, it would certainly at least be dazed. To a clearing that was extremely small she came, halting quickly with a gasp. The scene that greeted her was harsh indeed. A fawn lay on a soft bed of grass, yet instead of a vibrant green, it was colored a dark and mean red. The side of the infant had been gashed open and, upon further investigation, the jaws of a wolf had ripped open the neck of the animal. Sorrow filled her at such innocence lost, for the fawn died in the very next breath. _

_A rustle behind her and she believed that the wolf had returned to enjoy the meal, perhaps get an elf on the menu. Clutching the branch, she whirled around with her gaze narrowed, only to see a doe, still and poised. She lifted her nose into the air, sniffing with the delicate muzzle. The black eyes that settled on Maiestas held a sadness that seemed to be palpable, so intense and deep. _

"_I am sorry." No words could remove that sorrow from the parent whose young had been slain, taken from the world by the hands of a beast. _

_Fearing nothing from the doe, Maiestas turned back to the fawn and lowered the branch to the grass. Her eyes move over the silky coat of fur, spotted with white, until they settle on the wound. She was not a healer, but the scripts she had begun reading many years before came back to her now. Her hands followed her eyes, unmindful of the blood that warmed her own flesh as she laid her hands on the silkiness of downy fur. Her pupils seemed to dilate as her lips began to move, little sound coming out. The words had been foreign to her, brought in the hidden bag of an unidentified visitor long ago. The Black Speech came haltingly to her now, though the pronunciations were bad, the syllables misused._

_She felt as though she had remained thusly for hours, seeking life for this beast, for surely if she but willed it long enough, it would answer her call? No parent should see its child perish, and this doe was no different. Weakness assailed her easily, yet for such a simple soul, for such a young life that had only fled so recently, she needed not a greater strength then she possessed. _

_Without knowing the how's or why's, she felt a stirring beneath her hand, causing her to blink. Her eyes, though open, had been unseeing, fading to see nothing but an abysmal darkness that had engulfed her and her very spirit. The animal beneath her tainted hands no longer had wounds of death upon its skin, but was marred still with the blood of its death. Black eyes stared up at her, blinking slowly with life glimmering in the depths. Her own eyes widened as she fell back, her breath being torn from her loudly and harshly, lips parted in utter shock and amazement. Her entire form trembled not only with the absolute astonishment of what had just occurred, but also with a great fatigue unlike any she had ever felt before._

_The fawn scrambled to legs that seem too spindly to hold its weight before it shook its head, and blood flew in droplets from its coat. Maiestas sat, unmoving on the grass, her bloodied hands held behind her gripping the earth she had fallen to. Bewilderment rippled through her as the fawn leapt away, disappearing behind the trees. The doe remained, watching Maiestas for a pair of heartbeats before her head lowered and she, too, was gone._

_After several more hours, for as soon as the duo had taken their leave, she had collapsed upon the stained grass, her eyes falling closed as fatigue took her to a realm of rest, she had risen and walked to a nearby stream. The reflection that looked back at her was heavily marked, the spatters of blood that flew from the fawns coat having landed upon her face and the bodice of her robes. She washed quickly, shedding the robe to reveal her tunic and pants beneath. The robe she rolled up into a bundle, the bloodied portion within the clean, and as she returned to camp, she found a fire that had been burning and cast it within, watching until it disappeared. _

_Never had she spoken a word of what happened that day in that tiny clearing. From that day forth, however, she spent less time in the House of Healing, and more time in the great library of the Homely House, seeking the information she needed. It was not easily found, for Necromancy was not something looked upon with pleasure in the valley. Her one thought now, her one goal, was to see again the faces of her parents, the loving facade of her mother as joy or pride would touch her features._

_Her chance to discover the full potential of what she had discovered came in the year 51 of the Third Age. It was this year that she had taken her leave of Imladris, leaving when the shadows of night had stretched long across the land. She left no missive, no indication for where she was headed, for why she had left. None knew of her reasons, yet the arrival of a golden haired elf maiden, kind and gentle had preceeded her. An Elf Lord who had captured the heart of the young elfling he had saved many years before now had eyes for none other then for this vision of beauty... Celebrian._

A gentle smile lifted the corner of her lips as she travels the lands of time to find herself not in the woods of Imladris, but those of Lorien, some four thousand years later. Had she known what bringing that poor animal back from the depths of death would bring to her; she might not have done it. She might have willed its mother to suffer the sorrow and offered a prayer for the spirit to the Valar.

As it was, she had done it. She had delved into the art of divination and had been successful. There is a possibility, one she has put much thought to, in which losing her parents, knowing how deeply it hurt to lose one you loved, had aided her that day, creating for her a life not so much of her own choosing as one made for her.

Despite the choices made, she is now here; a servant both of the Elves, as well as one of Darkness, for it had been that ability that Sauron had needed of her. He had need of her powers, of the havoc she could wreak upon those who were strong enough to best him.

The Three.


	5. The Beginning

Several days have passed since last Maiestas has been lost to the recollections of the past. She has been busy, working not only at smoothing out the rough edges in her staff, but also in the learning of archery. Countless hours has she spent at the shooting range, pulling, aiming, releasing. She has improved much in the skill, though her fingers ached horribly for it. Blisters had long since formed and broken, seeping and bleeding until the calluses had begun to heal over them. She was at least able to now draw back the string of the bow without her arm trembling and her fingers being ripped open.

She had Elrohir to thank for the proper instruction in handling the weapon, for never before had she lifted one before that day he'd come upon her. She had been a miserable failure at the practice, the arrows falling from the string to land at her feet, or the twang of the string snapping as the arrow had remained in her fingers. Her frustration had been great until his patience had broken through her problems, his hands showing her how to hold the bow, level the arrow, and keep her elbow up as she pulled back on the string.

If there were technical terms for the actions she performed, she had no knowledge of them. She had not asked after them, nor had he offered. The tension between them was thick and with just cause. Elladan had yet to fully recover from the wounds bestowed upon him by those in the dark tower of Barad-dur. She steers her mind clear of that particular time, though the collected herbs she had in hand falls to the ground from limp fingers, forgotten as the very thought of the dark stoned spire seems to slam her back to another time…

_The crags and rocks jut into the sky, as if pleading to be released from this hell on earth. The very ground here is black, colored by the evilness that holds tightly to it. From high above, it would appear as though hundreds of ants scurried to and fro, seeking food or the order of the line they were destined to follow. Upon closer inspection, however, one was able to see that the tiny forms were not insects, but monsters. Though not overly tall, they were no less ugly then what would scare a child to screaming if they plagued a dream._

_Screams seemed to echo throughout the land; screams of outrage and of sparring, but loudest of all were the screams of pain. Many levels reverberated with the heartrending sounds, creating a cacophony of terror that would place chills in even the stoutest of souls. The rooms filled with devices designed only for torture held those poor beings that prayed hourly for the release of death, the ending of their pain. Their minds would never be the same even if they did manage to escape, which has never been done. Blood pooled on the floor, stepped through by the booted feet of orcs who, taking pleasure in the agony of their victims, pushed further and further, until either blackness took them or death embraced them._

_One room of such design was eerily silent of the torturous sounds, yet not so of the grunts, yells, curses, and taunts of the orcs who surrounded the naked and bleeding form of a silver haired elf, huddled upon the floor. Dull thuds bounced cruelly off the walls of the bower room as the feet of the instigators met different parts of her flesh. They held no concern for the broken bones nor the lacerations they would give to her, not since the play had only just began again after having to leave her from the prior days activities. _

_-------------------------_

_Never had Maiestas felt such pain and horror, held such longing in her soul to go back, to die the same day as her parents had. Her body ached worse then she imagined possible. Last night, as she'd been dragged up the stairs of the tower, she had reached out, seeking a hold on anything to stop the movement that bruised and battered her body. The stones that the orcs following had hurled at her were sharp and merciless to the tender flesh. Her fingertips had finally been able to find purchase on a jutting of a stone in the wall, stopping her movements for but a moment. As Sharku's thick-fingered hand tightened around her ankle, jerking him to a sudden stop, he turned to growl at her. _

"_What'd ya think you're doin'?" he growls at her while he lashes out with his foot to kick her solidly in her upper thigh, eliciting a gasp from her lips and bringing tears to her eyes. _

_Her hands had refused to let go, for who knew what fate awaited her at the pinnacle of this monstrosity? In retrospect she should have let go, but hindsight was always sharper, even for an elf. As he jerked with all his might on her ankle, her fingers slid from the stone with such force that the fingernails that tipped them were torn off and bent back, exposing the tender flesh beneath. A gasp of pain was torn from her lips at the rendering of her nails, her fingers curling within themselves to still the shocking pain. _

_The remainder of the upward journey was no less painful, but had she known what was to await her, she would have fought all the more hard. Within the room she was taken rested a large board with leather restraints at one end, mid-point, as well as a larger one at the other end. Beside the board, hanging from pegs shoved into the walls of stone were an assortment of whips, blades, and what looked to be clubs. As if those items alone were not enough to instill fear into the bravest of hearts, then the blood that stained them would definitely push them over the edge. _

_Across the room, chains hung from both the wall, secured by a large circular ring to the wall. There were rings in the floor at various points as well, as though there to taunt a captive of the many positions they would possibly be placed in. Another ring hung from the ceiling, placed so that the rings on the floor might also be used when chains from the ceiling hanged the form._

_It was to the rings that were at the wall she was dragged. Another orc had been waiting with shackles and as soon as Sharku dropped her leg he was kneeling, securing chainless shackles around her ankles, then her wrists. She struggled to fight him, but a quick blow by his fist to the side of her head and she stilled immediately, too stunned to even cry out._

_With an efficiency and speed that attested to the number of times he had performed just this very action, he slid a thick chain through the rings on each of the wrist shackles, yanking her up harshly to stand while her hands were stretched high above her. Her toes lifted from the ground as fire ripped through her shoulders at the weight that had now settled in them, strained from the weight of her body. As Lothra knelt before her, to lace more chains through the ankle circlets, she kicked out, her foot meeting his dirty chin. A grunt and roar of pain as he fell back coupled in the room by laughs of those orcs who had followed her up, tossing the stones at her. This seemed to only fuel his anger so that his fist struck even harder into her stomach, stealing her very breath. Bile rose in her throat as the task that Lothra had set out to complete was finished. Once a chain was wound through both rings at her ankles, two orcs came forward to secure those chains to corresponding rings in the floor. _

_Her position now was as vulnerable as she, her legs spread even as her arms were. Her form was stretched taut and she was unable to ease any of her muscles, for they all were tight and trembling. She looked up as Sharku stepped before her, his hand occupied as he had pulled one of the many whips from the wall. _

"_Now about that scream ya owe me…" _

_His strength was great, his aim impeccable, and his stamina immeasurable as over and over he lashed her back, sides, and front. The lines that were cut into her tender flesh mingled with the smaller wounds from the rocks and stairs. The blood that flowed from her wounds trailed down the lines of her body, dripping from the ends of her toes and heels to puddle beneath her. She had to grit her teeth, for she refused to scream, she would not give him what she wanted. Her hair, though not the white silver of the Noldors, was no less stunning with its deeper, almost mercurial hue. It had been the exact color of her mothers locks, though now it was muddied not only by the filth of the ground, but by the red of her body's life liquid. It hung around her face and body in limp tangles, giving her some semblance of dignity as it shielded her._

_It proved to be too much for her, the hours, or had it been only minutes? That he continued without pause, moving around her to be sure to strike all of her he could reach. Though she had cried softly, mewling into her arm she buried her face in, crying and sobbing silently, the pain had just become too much to bear. Fire was lit upon her flesh, burning and searing deeper then she had thought bearable even in her darkest of nightmares. Her scream had exploded from her lips, unknowing even to her until she heard it as though through a fog, mingling with the chortling laughter of those who had remained to watch, placing bets on how long she would hold out. That final strike, where the tendril of the whip had sliced even deeper as it had lain itself on an already existing welt, had broken her._

_After her scream, Sharku had continued for only a few lashes more, finally abating as her head fell forward, limp in exhaustion and agony. Moving around her again, he yanked on her hair, forcing her head up so she had to look at him with wet and glazed eyes._

"_I knew ya wouldn't last, that I'd be able to get ya to scream for me. You'll do more for me tomorrow, but ya aren't allowed to die, Elf. No, the master, he has plans for ya… you'll see." His breath had been rank as it came to her face, causing her to gag. He had released her then, leaving her as all the others proceeded him out of the room. The door closing reverberated in the room, causing her to slowly lift her head as her entire form began trembling uncontrollably, the chains rattling with the force of the shaking._

_Maiestas could feel only pain, only burning agony. She is unable to remember, even though it had been only earlier that very day, what it was to not hurt, to not feel the warmth of your own blood escaping from your torn flesh. Her eyes had lifted slowly to look at the door, confusion coming a close second to the pain. Why had she been brought here? Why had they come for her? No answers had been given, as she'd been beaten, not even a question. Why the mindless torture that she suffered from? Tears rise unbidden to course down her cheeks, falling to her naked breasts. Rivulets are formed in the blood as the salty tears cleanse the red taint from her pale flesh. _

_She had remained thusly throughout the long hours of what she assumed were the night, for in this room she could not tell. Not a single window graced the walls to give a hint at the sky that was outside. How she longed for a sight of the stars, a glimpse of the silmaril that would glow from the brow of Earendil. _

_It had been what she could assume was hours later that Sharku and Lothra had returned, bringing with them 4 others. Lothra had released her from the chains that had restrained her arms, her form crumbling to the floor with a hard thump. She was limp, unable to move. Her legs he left shackled to the floor as they all surrounded her, forcing her to slink back into herself so she is able to curl into the fetal position as they begin right off beating her. Their feet land firmly, striking her legs, her arms, one meeting her head, another the small of her back. She arches forward with that kick to her back, a silent scream tearing from her throat as her head whips back, her eyes clenched tightly with pain. She received no reprieve however, as with this exposing of her head face, Sharku took that opportunity to swing his massive booted foot at her face, the metal clasp on it slicing deeply into her brow. Blood follows the path of his foot, spurting forth to splatter against his feet. _

_As blackness threatened to overtake her just then, causing Lothra to lift his hand, stilling the others in their attack of her. The feet stopped yet the sneering comments continued.   
_

"_Why can't we jes kill 'er?" growls one of them._

"_The Master 'as a use fer 'er" is the answer from her other side. She hears these words but is unable to comprehend them just now._

"_That means we can't even 'ave good fun with 'er!" the high-pitched whine of a third breaks through the thick fog of her mind, giving her at least a soft bit of relief. Thank the Valar, they will not touch her in that manner._

_Another kick slams into her in that moment, hitting her directly in the groin area as the same whiney voice yells down at her. His anger was such because it was well known, and tested by these very beings, that the light of the elves can diminish if such acts were forced upon them._

"_Maggoty elves and their bloomin' lights!" his yell is cut short as, with a guttural cry, his life is stolen from him. _

_Sharku's scimitar had slammed down onto his head, splitting his skill in two. He had disobeyed the order to still all movements, and punishments for insubordination were harsh and swift in these lands._

_Her cry of anguish resounded through the room, for never in her many years of life had anything ever touched her in that area of her body. That the first touch would be so painful was nothing short of a complete shame. Blood flowed from her freely from those lower areas now, causing Lothra to shake his head. _

"_Nah. It's no good to keep at her today. She'll fade if we do. She'll need a couple o' days from that ones kick did, or her insides'll shrivel up." His tone held neither compassion nor worry of whether she should actually decide to journey to the Halls of Mandos._

_It was Sharku that ranted, throwing his sword across the room to slam onto the bench then clatter to the floor with a clang. _

"_If his strike kills her, the Dark Lord will call for the death us all. She isn't to die, he's a use for her and that staff of hers," he spoke to Lothra while motioning to her staff, which was leaning against the wall on the far side of the room._

_Leaving her soon after, she remained huddled on the floor shivering, warmed only by the feel of her own blood. Her left eye was swollen now almost to the point of complete closure, the wound upon it making the flesh angry. She slowly moved her arms, pulling them into her midsection as she'd been splayed on the floor from the kick to her face followed so closely by the kick to the apex of her thighs. The kick had shocked her to the very core of her being, harming her far worse then any of the previous torture had. _

_As she curled into herself, the lines that had been cut into her back yesterday by the whip split back open, the blood from those now streaming down as well. How much could she stand to lose? How long could she hold out? How long would this continue? All of these questions rolled in her mind as sobs wracked her pitiful form, her soft cries whispers in the black room._

Maiestas is completely unaware that she had stilled, moving not at all from the moment the memory began. Her hands hang limply at her sides. Her eyes, dilated despite the light of the sun, stare forward seeing another place, a darker place. Her face is expressionless even as she does regain her thoughts and the knowledge of where she is. She does not weep, she does not cry. Not now, not again. She would not shed another tear for the pain she experienced.

Her eyes, however, drift closed, until the long dark lashes rest on her cheeks.


	6. The Reason

For the life of her, Maiestas could not figure out the finer arts of that weapon. It had been difficult for her before and still it remained so. Where she had believed she was making progress, she had only been fooling herself. Hours had just been spent releasing the string to have the arrows simply fall to the ground. Out of the hundred or so arrows she'd fired, three had flown down the range. She did not hit the target a single time.

Shaking her head, a whisper of a smile touches her lips before it disappears just as quickly as it had shown itself. Perhaps she was just not meant to learn that particular way of defense. Tightening her fingers around the staff, she glances up to its tip, looking at the blue egg-shaped stone that had been placed with love long ago.

_Years had passed with wounds coming and going. After the first week of rather constant abuse of various sorts, it tended to move on towards the more focused, the more tedious. Not one of the blades and whips that had hung from the pegs on the walls went unused. All had tasted her blood eventually; all had made her scream to the morbid satisfaction of her tormentors. The main two instigators, Sharku and Lothra, proved their skills to lie within all aspects of torture, from the grotesque to the mental. _

_They had little problem showing her bits of both, yet it was always the mental that she had feared the most. After years of physical abuse of every fashion and form, save one, she came to have nightmares due to the mental anguish she was put through. The wounds of her flesh would fade, even if the memory of how they were administered would not. She could not fade however, no matter the seriousness and depth of what they did to her, for she had made a promise to herself and never had she broken an oath yet. The temptation to close her eyes, to allow the light of the Valar to come to her, had been strong, had been hard to resist. It was one thought, one in her minds eye that held her so firmly rooted to the life that was filled with pain, humiliation, and suffering._

_Never far from her heart was the memory of the Elf Lord who had pulled her from her dead mothers arms as an elfling. Never was his stern visage and quiet voice out of her mind. It had been her promise regarding him that forced her to continue, for she had sworn to herself as she left Imladris so long ago that she would return to see him, regardless of what was needed. She could even now see his long hair; the dark locks blowing gently in a soft breeze as they frame features while the points of his ears peek through. The scent of his hair had stuck with her from that day she had buried her face in it, held tightly and safe in his strong embrace as he carried her away from her burning home. Had she known that she would end up betraying Elrond Peredhil even by keeping her promise, she just might have broken that one bond and journeyed into the Halls of Mandos._

_The purpose of her capture, of the torture, of the years of imprisonment, had been revealed to her after seventeen tedious years. For that long she had wondered what she did, what rule of life she broke to be called to such a hell. No light or darkness came to her, not even the light of the stars she craved so deeply, for the walls of the room she was kept in held out all hint of light. A hideous being, known to her only as the Mouth of Sauron, had come to her one day, or was it night? She had barely been able to focus on his figure for the days she had been without water and any fashion of food. This had been a result of the latest form of mind torture they had performed upon her person. His tall form had loomed over her, backlit by the torches light to create a sort of glow around him. For a moment, she had believed herself to be hallucinating as the dark robes shifted to lengths of hair, the voice coming forth to her not as what it should have, but as Elrond's. _

"_Your years here have been long and hard." A soft laugh that had seemed to sound as though no humor had ever touched it drifted to her ears, bringing with it the clarity that this most certainly was not Lord Elrond. _

_Blinking slowly, she shifted on the floor, pushing herself to sit upright. She had been given clothing long ago, rags really, though the lack of clothing had now ceased to bother her. Never had she been touched sexually and she had grown somewhat used to being touched by the grimy hands of Lothra and Sharku. She held no liking for either of them, yet they were nonetheless familiar to her. _

"_Would you like now to know why you have been brought to Barad-dur, the Tower of Darkness?" his smile was gruesome with the long teeth that could easily bite through even the toughest of materials._

"_Yes," her voice has a rasp in it that had not been there before, stealing the musical and ethereal quality. It could possibly be from the lack of moisture, or simply from the many hours it had been used to scream. She had long since given up fighting that battle._

_His movements are quick, so fast that they startle her to flinch, expecting a strike of some sort. He crouches before her, the blackness of his robes the purest of the color, holding not even a tinge of gray. He snaps out his hand and captures her chin in his long fingers, holding with a cruel tightness. The Lieutenant of Barad-dur takes several long and drawn out moments to study her, forcing her head to turn this way and that._

"_There is some form of sorcery at work with you that My Lord Sauron desires. You will not taste death but supplication. You will not escape but will see release. Your oath is required, a bond, to the Master. Once such is given, you will hear from him the deeds you are to commit. You will summon from the dead one he seeks."_

_The shock of the reason had been deep, for she had felt with it confusion. Through the years she had heard so much of the Black Speech that she would be able to speak it with perfection now. The spells she had read of, had memorized, had discovered, would come easily to her tongue. It was this she had been taken for? This ability she had always felt as a gift, as a wonder for the life it could bring. Beyond the fawn she had not brought another soul back to life and was, in fact, astonished to learn she had been able to successfully call that poor young soul back after reading of the difficulty of such a spell._

"_No. I will not." Her voice, though soft and trembling for fear of this being that gripped her painfully, was firm. Her eyes snapped with refusal, for never would her abilities be put to such use._

_His laughter is mocking and quick to come as his fingers tighten on her jaw, squeezing until she is certain her bones will snap. Her hands, chained to the floor by her wrists, are unable to lift to rid her of his touch. Though she pulls back, he does not release her. When she knows that the bone of her jaw will submit to his force, he releases her, shoving her back as he rises swiftly and turns. Through his grotesque teeth, orders are issued to Lothra._

"_Restrain her on the table."_

"_Yes, My Lord."_

_Never had she heard Lothra's voice so cowed. Truly this figure whose face was masked by the black helm was one to be feared. Shaking her head and pulling at her limbs as they are freed and grasped by the four orcs that come forward at Lothra's orders, she knows suddenly a terror unlike anything known prior. Something hints at her that what is to happen next will be a point in her life she will not likely forget. _

_As she is placed on the table, her scarred limbs stretched to the point of being excruciatingly painful, he browses along the wall of weapons. The mid-restraint, a wide band that crosses her tummy, is placed on her this time, assuring her that what is to come will be detrimental to her, both mind and soul_

_With the bands holding her, she is unable to move but for her head, which is currently turned to watch him reach forth to pluck from the wall a knife. The blade of this weapon, already crusted with her blood, was jagged and rough. It would hurt, as it did not actually slice her flesh, but rip it. _

"_No, please. I am not able to do what it is he seeks, I have not the ability!" her cry is pleading, as she has no desire to feel this pain. Not again._

_Stepping close to the table, she can feel his robes brush against her flesh. It is odd that in this specific moment she should feel such softness, such coolness from something so dark. The blade is moved over her, trailing up the length of her legs as she can only tremble._

"_An oath is desired, Elf Child." His answer is immediate before he smiles down at her, his head jerking to the side to apparently look at her, though she is unable to tell for the covering over his eyes. "Many have been the days when your screams and pleas have echoed through the halls of my tower. I have tired of hearing the name of the Elf you call to release you." _

_Stopping the knife over her torn tunic, he slips the blade beneath the edge and cuts it from her breast, exposing the white flesh, crisscrossed with scars from whips. There really is little of her skin that is unmarked at this time._

"_What are you doing?" She pulled and sought freedom, though it is all in vain. The bonds held well._

"_You give us a constant reminder of that one which fills your thoughts, you shall get the same in return." And with little further ado, his hand turned to press the irregular blade to her flesh as his lips whisper words she might be able to identify, if she could hear them over her own screams._

_The pressure he pushed down with not even an inch above her left breast was the most biting kiss she had ever felt. It was not just the pain from the steel to her flesh that brought with it the sting, but also the spell of his words. Ever would this wound harm her, even after a scar had formed. Curving it downward at a slow angle, he then jerked it harshly to the right, angling it upwards then. Not lifting the point from the wound, he turned it as it was buried to go down once again, only to jerk back to the right and up._

_Fire remained as the nicked blade is taken from her skin, such a burn that it brought bile to her throat. She was unable to control the sickness that overtook her as the Mouth of Sauron turned to leave her, bleeding and marked by his touch and sorcery. _

_It was only later, once she had been released from the leather straps that had held her still for his ministrations that she was able to look at her newest acquisition. Huddled on the floor, her back pressed to the coolness of the stone, she glanced down to peer through the blood that had since dried and crusted. What she saw caused a gasp of anger, shock, and humiliation to pass unnoticed from her lips. There, carved for eternity upon the flesh protecting her heart, was the elven mark:_

_**E**_

_She touched it lightly with her fingertips, the blood unnoticed along with the sting of the pressure. As if the knowledge of his touch to her mind was not enough, now a brand to her body would serve as a constant reminder. _

_Many more years passed in much the same manner as the previous seventeen, though now they sought not only to humiliate her and show her what they could do, but also to force her into making this oath. It was now not only Sharku and Lothra who spent their time with her, but the Mouth of Sauron took time out of his schedule to pay the occasional visit to her. She withheld for thirteen years more, dealing with the hours of treatments, the stretches of time without food, water, or rest of any fashion. It was in that thirtieth year that she could hold out no longer._

_Her shackles had been released, the scars and calluses that formed bands around both her ankles and wrists bright against the rest of her flesh. She had been speechless when they'd undone the bonds, for it was the very first time in all the years she had been in the care of the Black Tower. She was led out of the room that had become her home and down a steep flight of stairs. She could recall briefly being dragged up those very stairs and the fear of the unknown. Would that she had died that day. _

_To another room, far deeper and larger, she was taken. Along the far wall several Men had been lined up: Men, Women, and Children of varying ages. Their clothing was bedraggled and torn, their faces dirty and filled with fear. Pity instantly lifted to her features, her eyes moving over each of them. Having had no inkling as to what was going to occur, she glanced to Lothra in confusion, yet it was Sharku who had chosen to speak at that moment, his words and voice more cultured then the others._

"_You now hold in your hands the fate of each Human in this room." The word human is nearly sneered from lips that curl with derision. "For every minute you delay in making the oath, a child will be slain before its parents, followed first by the woman, then the man, so the man will know complete failure with his life." The smile that touches his lips could in no fashion be thought of as normal or sane._

_Sucking in a breath as she turned to look at the horrified faces of those who were now crying in fear and desperation, she shook her head and turned to beg Sharku. Reaching out, she gripped at his arm, her eyes already filling with tears for she knows they will show no pity. _

"_No, you must not do this, there is not even an evil this dark as to allow such a thing to happen. Sharku, you cannot do this!" She is unable to control the shudder that moves in her voice, yet that is nothing to the cry that is torn from her throat as the scimitar falls to the first victim._

_It was done just as Sharku had threatened. She was forced to watch while Lothra held her as she struggled, sobs wracking her frame. The cries and sorrow of the humans mingled with her own, until finally, after only a meager six minutes, she succumbed to their demands. She could deal with the sight no longer, knowing she could stop it. _

"_STOP! Yes, I shall do it! You have my oath, my word, only please…Cease this torment" and she fell to the floor in a heap, tears streaming freely down her face to trace lines of clean flesh on the filth of her pale skin. "Release them, allow them freedom from this cursed realm." She cannot bear to even look at them, for she knew she would see the blame and hatred. _

_They knew not what had been asked of her, could not possibly understand what it was she had just done, what she had given up. The remaining men, women, and children were led out, where their fate is to this very day unknown._

_Her fate had been sealed that day. The words she spoke before crumpling to the floor at Lothra's feet were enough to secure her soul to the will of the Dark Master. _

_Her lessons would soon begin._


	7. Coming to Be

1

Coming to Be

_It was in the city of Ost-in-edhil that the infant first took a breath of air into her tiny lungs. It was not a delivery of ease, however, for during the birthing process, something had gone awry and life had been stolen from the babe before it had been gifted to her. As the little female form had been pushed from her mothers' body, it had been still despite the ministrations of the healer who had caught her. Hands were gentle as mother and father, Selestas and Maieron, watched on with fear filled eyes._

_Once the cord had been cut, Seladra, the healer, turned and carried the babe to the table, laying her down upon it as she worked fervently over the small limbs. Soft words were sung from her lips as her hands moved to quickly coax life back to the first-born daughter of this household. The wish was granted and the infant's cry filled the house, much to the sobbing relief of its parents._

"_Maiestas… my daughter." Weepy words were whispered as Selestas pressed her lips to the wrinkled forehead once Seladra had swaddled and handed her to the mother. Put to breast, she ate eagerly and hungrily, settling into the offered love as a new life of one of the First Born._

_The years were kind to the elven family, though the strife in Ost-in-edhil grew daily. Many nights, Maiestas would lie in her bed while her parents spoke of when they would leave, for they felt loyalty to the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Since their departure, the city had lost some of its light, its grandeur. The rumors flew louder and louder of the time when Sauron would attack, of when the orcs would come. Such discussions frightened her, yet she never spoke of what she heard to Ada and Nana, for the shadows that seemed to dwell constantly in the depths of their eyes gave her pause. Where had the light of happiness gone? Why the worry that outshone even that?_

_It happened finally, not so many winters later on a cold day. The breath could be seen passing the lips of the guard as they'd been struck down and the siege of the city had begun. Escape routes were quickly cut off, yet there had been one that remained open. Her father had tried to get them out, yet the success of that was another story, another chapter._

That was how she thought of her life, this She-Elf who now has seen more then four millennia pass behind her. Each event, or series of events, was another beginning in the book of her very existence. A long novel it was, for she had felt not only death before birth, but love of a child to a parent only to have it stolen on swift wings. She had then felt the safety of strong arms encircling her tiny form, coupled with other arms, those of her foster parents.

Years passed as another section was written simultaneously alongside many others. Her love for the Elf Lord had never once faltered, never once dimmed. During the time of this budding adoration, her foster parents had taken leave of Middle Earth, sailing for Westernesse on one of Cirdan's gray ships. They had held her and begged her to join them, yet she had declined, keeping the reasons her own. She was not yet ready to admit defeat in regards to the one who had even to this day spoken only in passing to the young elf maiden. She had chosen to remain, parting for the second time with all she had known for a family. She had privately been reading books, secrets that many did not speak of, more did not know of.

The winters continued to pass, one by one. Unnoticed they went by but for the dual purposes she had adopted in her life…her quests. The first was to call back those she had lost entirely too early. Her precious Adar and loving Naneth were never more then a thought from her mind. How she longed to feel the warm embrace of her mother's arms around her form once again. How she craved to hear the soft voice of her father singing as he was hard at work. Such was not to happen, at least not to the years she had gained.

The second quest came to as the Second Age had drawn to its closing. A fair elf-maid had journeyed to the land she had called home, catching not only the love of the people who also dwelled there, but also the very one who she had been vying for in silence. Her tears had known no constraint as she had wept for the loss of any chance she had. Celebrian had arrived at Imladris, and from that day forth, Elrond had eyes for none other.

In 51 of the Third Age, Maiestas had been unable to accept the life that would not stretch out before her, for now she had come to an impasse not only in her studies, but also in that of her love. Her time with the books, with the words, and texts had intensified after the Elf Princess had come. She spent little time outside of her dwelling, instead opting to make notes long into the night and the following mornings. The day arrived when no further texts could be found, not even in the darkest corners of the library. It was at this moment, when she realized she had nowhere else to go in her life's work and, indeed her very life, which she decided to leave. Packing nothing but a change of clothing and some food, a bag of _miruvor_, a satchel full of parchment, and a determined mind, she set out. It was deep in the darkness of night that her cloaked form had taken leave, being stopped only by a Guardian who desired to know of her intent. She had spoken of a desire to sail to Valinor and had been allowed to continue on. Thus it was that Maiestas, adopted child of Imladris, had set out on her own, into the wild lands of Middle Earth.


End file.
